


Cigarettes and Whiskey

by NuclearWaste



Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, Minor Swearing, im not saying al doesn't smoke, im saying that we havent considered The Possibilities of why he would smoke, mentions of the good Professor, pre-forbodium castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearWaste/pseuds/NuclearWaste
Summary: Justin's baffled as to why Al of all people is suddenly asking for a cigarette. Hilda's no help, until she is.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Cigarettes and Whiskey

"Whadda need, Al?" Granted, if it was anyone besides Alfendi Layton going through his desk, Justin would've asked, "What the  _ hell _ do you think you're doing?" But Justin had long since learned that such questions only provoked smartass answers, thus prolonging the whole affair. And getting between Alfendi on a warpath was almost as dumb as getting between  _ Hilda _ on a warpath. So the fifth or sixth time he'd caught Al riffling through his things, Justin had given up on the whole personal boundaries speech and added it to the growing list of battles not worth fighting his investigative partner on. But what could Alfendi want that Justin had? Al himself had sent in their last case reports this morning, Justin hadn't snagged the last copy of today's paper, and Al "would prefer to write in dried blood" than use Justin's pens. 

Al stopped searching through a desk door and turned around, uttering a single word: "Cigarette."

"What?"

"Do you have a spare cigarette?"

"You don't smoke." Justin was sure of that fact. Hell, Al didn't even usually let Justin smoke near him. He vividly remembers being threatened with a slow death via being burned alive should he attempt to light up near him in the future. Al's since made a special exception for when casework spills into the evenings, but Justin knows better than to offer him a smoke.

Al's left fingertips twitched. "Thanks for  informing me, Justin. I'll be sure to contact you the next time I introspect. Now do you have a cigarette or not?"

Justin fished out the box from his pocket. Al snatched the container, deftly pulled out a cigarette and tossed the box back. 

Justin watched Al examine the stick with the same detached fascination he normally reserved for locked room murders. The white of the paper flicked in and out of sight as Al twirled the thing in his hand. "Light?"

Normally, Justin would've lit the cigarette himself, but there was no way Al was actually going to take a drag, right? He needed it for a case somehow, maybe was gonna MacGyver something with it. So Justin tossed the lighter to him.

Al took the cigarette between his teeth. Justin watched him with detached horror and an ever growing sense of disbelief as the lighter came closer to the stick. The overwhelming wrongness of the situation so thoroughly engulfed him he didn't hear the telltale clack of Hilda's heels.

"No smoking in the office," she said, strutting right passed them like there wasn't something inherently strange about the situation she'd nearly witnessed. She sat down at her desk and began working on some document or another.

Al shoved the lighter into his pocket before placing the cigarette back into his hand. "Dear Hilda, perfect timing: You still have that hip flask of whiskey in your purse?"

Wordlessly, Hilda continued writing with her right hand as her left retrieved the aforementioned item. She didn’t even comment as Al proceeded to dab the alcohol on as if it were perfume - a splash patted down on his neck and wrists. Justin couldn’t help but gape.

Al caught him staring and flashed a shit-eating grin before slipping the cigarette back between his teeth. He retrieved the lighter and idly flicked on the light a few times. "You still smoke in the lot before work?"

Justin nodded. As Al sauntered off, he couldn't contain all his questions anymore. "Do you even know  _ how _ to smoke?"

"46.5% sure, yeah!" He called brightly before disappearing behind the office doors.

“Unbelievable,” Justin muttered to himself. Turning to Hilda, he asked, “How can you just sit there like that wasn’t the weirdest five minutes of your life?”

Hilda, professional as always, didn’t even put down her pen. “It aligns with the known facts of the case.”

Justin huffed. “Care to crack it wide open for me then?”

“Barton was meeting with the good Professor today, was he not? And it stands to reason Professor Layton will at least do a quick check-in on his son if he’s already here.”

“Ah, so Al’s keeping up the black sheep reputation then. Gotcha.”

Hilda turned the page in her report, nodding. “I’d check up on him, if I were you. Wouldn’t want him hacking up a lung in his vigor to tick off his father.”

Justin was about to argue the point, but realizing Hilda was most definitely in the right, headed for the back parking lot himself.


End file.
